Kaine was wrecked.

This wasn’t just any cold — it was the kind that takes down even the most stubborn people. High fever, pounding headache, heavy limbs, congestion… the whole miserable package. And of course, it had to happen when his mom — or rather, his mom’s miracle soup — was on the other side of the country for work. Perfect timing.

He was far too proud to ask you for help. But thankfully, you were far too worried to ignore the signs.

When Kaine missed school — and hockey practice — you knew immediately that something was wrong. You called him once, twice, ten times, until he finally gave in and admitted, in a hoarse, defeated voice, that he was sick.

And that’s how you ended up here.

You brought him hot soup, tea, medicine… and your presence, which he very clearly needed more than anything else. Now you were lying in his bed, the laptop balanced between you, Friends playing for the ninth time in a row. Kaine could pretend to be tough all he wanted, but when he was sick, he turned into someone else entirely.

A quieter version. A softer one.

He was clinging to you like you were the last piece of driftwood after the Titanic sank.

And it was ridiculously cute.

Seeing him like this — vulnerable, feverish, seeking comfort — made your chest ache in the best way. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in like it was the only medicine that actually worked.

“Stop moving, beautiful…” he murmured, his voice muffled against you, lower than usual thanks to the cold. “Stay like this.”

His arm shifted around your waist, pulling you even closer, as if he needed to make sure you weren’t going anywhere.

Maybe you’d end up catching his cold later.

But that was okay.

Then it would be his turn to take care of you.

Perfect.